


Riddikulus

by Queenie_Mab



Series: Harry Potter - a variety of ships [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Boggarts, Dysphoria, Fear, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, Horror, Illustrated, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Psychological Horror, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Mab/pseuds/Queenie_Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Facing your fears is not always the best idea, especially when your fear wears your face!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riddikulus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2013 Horror fest](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/27490.html) on livejournal. Cover art by [Mayfly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mayfly)
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

"Come on, Teddy," Jake Davies shouts, making my ears ring. "Do the one where you have an elephant trunk again! That one's classic!" 

I'm so tired of this. All these requests. But as it is a celebration, the first time Hufflepuff has won the Quidditch cup in over fifty years, I oblige with a smile. It doesn't matter if the smile isn't genuine. Nothing about me is genuine. 

I know I shouldn't complain about my "gift." My gran has always told me to be proud of who I am and to live life to my full potential, just like my mum and dad would have wanted. _That's what they fought for and that's what they died for, Ted._ As if I hadn't heard that a million times before. 

Sometimes I wonder if my mum had any of the same problems about herself that I have about myself. She was a metamorphmagus too, and apparently we are really rare. It's nearly unheard of for two to be born into one family only a generation apart. 

I had a happy enough childhood, despite not having living parents. Gran always treats me well and so does my godfather. Harry and Ginny have me and Gran over at least once a week for dinner when I'm not in school, and I spend a few weeks with them and their kids during the holidays. 

The real feelings of unease I've been coping with Harry tells me are a normal part of adolescence, that it's part of what you go through when you become a man, but honestly, I could never tell him everything. It's not just about that. I've felt off my whole life. I remember once when Gran took me to tea with the Abbotts, there were only little girls my age to play with. I was only about four or five at the time, but the girls told me I couldn't play with them since I wasn't a girl. So I changed. I changed into a girl and they thought that it was brilliant. The daughter of the woman hosting the party lent me a dress and everything, and I felt like my gift was really great. It helped me to fit in and to belong. We had a lot of fun. But things ended badly. My Gran had been looking all over for me and couldn't find me anywhere. She was ready to call the Ministry of Magic to report me as missing when another mother asked the girls where I was. I ran to Gran, and she broke down in tears. She told me never to change my gender again as it had frightened her to death. I didn't, but I did continue to use my gift in order to fit in with the kids around me. 

Now I feel like a giant pretender. I don't feel like I should be a girl, but what I am supposed to look like? Even looking through photographs of myself as a child, I can see the people around me reflected in my face and choice of hair and eye colour, as if I hadn't made up my mind what to look like, and it's just never gone away. I sometimes choose to alter my appearance in slight ways to sort of test how I'm treated with different faces. I _am_ treated differently depending on what I look like; it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable knowing that the body and face I've settled on is the one that seems to please others the most. Other people who aren't born with innate beauty aren't as lucky as I am to be able to just change it. I sometimes wonder if people talk about me behind my back because of it. 

For the most part though, I've settled on this body. I like to keep my hair blue, because although it does make me stand apart somewhat, Gran told me it was the colour I favoured as a baby, before I learned how to change for other people. 

My attention is drawn back to the present as the party dies down and people are heading to bed. 

I stand up and stretch. I pull my shirt back down over my stomach when I notice Jake watching me. "What?" I ask him. 

He climbs to his feet from the cushion he'd been sitting on and cocks his head, as if he's considering something. 

"Can you change other parts of your body too?" he asks, and I feel my heart sink into my stomach. The dreaded question is coming. 

"Sure," I answer, trying to laugh it off as if it's not a big deal. "Let's get to bed. I'm beat."

He follows me and I can feel his eyes on my back, making my skin prickle beneath my shirt. 

"But like, have you ever given yourself breasts before?" he asks, not taking my hint that I don't want to talk about it. "Or a cunt? I've always wondered what it would feel like to have girl bits for a day. I'd probably never leave my room!"

There's laughter in his voice. I know he doesn't mean what he says to be offensive, but to me, it is. It's hard to hear somebody belittling my body with such relish. First sounding as if he was jealous of the ability, but more than that, that he would like it purely for sexual gratification.

"You'd hardly leave your room anyway if you didn't have lessons," I quip back, earning a bark of laughter. 

We reach our dormitory and he pushes past me on the way in grinning like a loon. "Touché."

Thankfully that is the end of the conversation. I crawl into my bed and he into his. The rest of our dorm mates have already closed their curtains. 

All I can think of as I put out the light on the bedside table and draw the curtains around my four-poster is that another day is done and I have the rest of my life to look forward to doing the same thing, savouring the night hours when I can sleep and dream of what life would be like if I was the same as everybody else, as if I truly belonged.

***

"Class, turn to page 397 of your books," Professor Bones says in Defence Against the Dark Arts that morning.

I stayed up too late last night and the conversation I'd had with Jake made falling asleep take a lot longer than it usually did. 

I yawn and flip the pages of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Preservation_ to the requested page. My eyes catch the title and I feel my blood run cold. Boggarts.

I know that Boggarts aren't considered horribly dangerous to most wizards, that they are really looked upon more as household pests than dark creatures. When you find one in your house it means you need to tidy more often, but when I was seven, I had happened upon a Boggart while visiting Harry and the experience was so horrible, I can't recall what had even happened. I remember Harry barging in and getting rid of it, then he picked me up and held me in his arms, rocking me and whispering soothing things into my ear while I calmed down. I knew that I would eventually have to learn how to deal with the things on my own, but I wasn't prepared for it today.

Professor Bones's voice continues, breaking me out of my recollections. I look up, trying to focus on what's she's telling us, but her voice sounds as if it's a long way off. 

"A Boggart is a shapeshifter. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when it is alone, but they prefer to inhabit dark and small nooks like a cupboard, or a desk, and tend to seek out places where they are unlikely to be disturbed."

My eyes drift back to the illustration on the page below the title. In it, two wizards have encountered a Boggart and have their wands drawn and trained on it. It first appears as a giant bloody eyeball, but the second wizard steps in front of the first and it changes into what looks to be an Inferius. 

"The Boggart uses fear as a defence mechanism," Professor Bones says. I barely hear her through the pounding of my heart in my ears. "They transform into what the being encountering them fears the most. In the wild, this defence serves to drive unwanted visitors away from the Boggart's hiding place and is quite effective, but when a Boggart chooses an inappropriate home, there is a simple spell to repel the Boggart and to drive him off. Turn to the next page to read about banishing a Boggart."

I turn the page and find the Boggart banishing spell is written in bold letters above a new illustration. **Riddikulus**.

"Normally to get rid of a Boggart, one must either have mastered his own fear, or find a partner to attempt the charm with and to confuse the Boggart through distraction."

I watch the illustration of the two wizards as they confuse the Boggart, first making the bloody eyeball bounce repeatedly, and when the Boggart turns to the second wizard and becomes an Inferius, this time he's an Inferius wearing large clown shoes that make him trip and fall. The illustrated wizards laugh and a speech bubble rises above them spelling out: _Riddikulus!_ The Boggart vanishes in a burst of sparks and the illustration begins again.

"Your assignment for this week is to research the Boggart and the banishing spell that you will use to combat him. Plan a strategy for tackling him in our next lesson. We will be taking turns. It's important that you take the time to examine your fears. Figure out what form the Boggart will take and decide how you can make them into something laughable. Are there any questions?"

I swallow hard as I write the assignment down in my homework diary. Many students have raised their hands and Professor Bones answers their questions, but I'm having trouble concentrating. I need to get out of here. Fortunately, the bell rings as I put the full stop at the end of the assignment. 

"Teddy, would you stay a moment?" Professor Bones asks as I sling my bag over my shoulder. 

I nod and sit back down, the sick feeling in my stomach spreading through the rest of my body.

After the last student leaves the room, Professor Bones pulls a chair up and sits at my table across from me. She folds her hands on the tabletop and turns her large brown eyes on me. 

"I know this may be a hard lesson for you, Teddy. Harry sent me an owl your first year and told me about your experience with the Boggart when you were young. It's part of the reason I've held off on teaching them until your fifth year."

My face burns. The last thing I want is to know I've been getting special treatment because of Harry's influence, but at the same time, it does make me thankful that Harry cares enough about me to have done it. I focus on my knees. "Thanks, Professor," I mumble. 

"Teddy, do you know why the Boggart had such a traumatising effect on you as a child?" she asks. 

My eyes snap up to meet hers. I don't know. I have no recollection of anything that happened that night, and up until now I was happy to leave it buried. I shake my head. 

"As a metamorphmagus, Teddy, you are also a sort of shapeshifter. It's my belief that the Boggart sensed in you a greater threat than with any other being it may have encountered. I don't know much about metamorphmagi, as you are very rare, but I do know that Boggarts are able to learn from their victims."

"What are you saying?" 

"They can read a person's thoughts to the extent that they know exactly how to become the thing you fear the most, yes? So it stands to reason that they become smarter with every victim they change for. The more fear they are exposed to, the more knowledge or perhaps even magic they are able to glean. I think happening upon a wizard version of a shapeshifter would delight them."

She stops and her eyes soften. 

"If you need to talk to me about anything, my door is always open." 

I nod and shift my bag back on my shoulder. I really don't want to think about this anymore. I don't see why forcing me to face my fear in front of my peers is necessary to learn how to defeat a Boggart. How can I tell her how humiliated I am by what I think it will become? 

"Yeah. Can I go? I have Potions next."

She stands up and lets me pass. "Take care of yourself, Ted. I'm sure you'll do fine with the Boggart. It will be easier to confuse with a room full of people. It won't have the chance to scare you for an extended period of time. Read all you can in the textbook and ask any questions you might have."

I leave the room, my shame blazing on my face.

***

The week passes in a frenzy. I have horrible nightmares about encountering the Boggart and it's all I can do to stay present in my lessons. When the day comes for our next Defence lesson, my stomach is so tied up in knots, I go to the hospital wing and feign illness.

The coming fortnight is Easter holiday, and I am relieved beyond measure to be spending it with the Potters. 

The first morning after I arrive, Harry wakes me for breakfast by sitting on the side of my bed and bouncing up and down.

"Wake up! Wake up! Teddy Lupin, your presence is requested at the breakfast table!"

It's hard not to smile when Harry is excited. I open my eyes a crack and look at him. 

"What time is it?" I mumble, feeling the last of my dreams slip away like dissipating smoke. 

"It's breakfast time!" Harry says and stands up, snatching the covers off me. 

"Hey! Give them back," I say, sitting up, disgruntled. 

Harry tosses the blanket back on my bed and leans against the footboard, sizing me up. "You want to tell me about what's going on in Professor Bones's class?" he asks, suddenly serious. 

I pause, not quite sure what he means. 

He goes on, frowning slightly, though his expression is more concerned than angry. "She sent me an owl this morning saying that you didn't turn up for your last lesson and you were going to have to make up the work after Easter."

I think Harry can read in my face some of the terror I've been feeling, because he rounds the bed and sits down again. 

"It's Boggarts, Harry," I tell him, my voice quiet. I don't know why I'm feeling so ashamed right now, Harry knows all about how Boggarts frighten me and he's never made fun of me for it before. I should feel safe confiding in him. I do, in fact, but the shame is still there blazing on my face.

"Oh," he says. I can see him shudder as if he's just had a chill. "Yeah, they are creepy buggers. Remember when I told you what a Boggart turns into when I see it?" 

Of course I remember. How could I not? I think it's been written into the history books, but I don't mention that to Harry. I know he doesn't like to think about how he's become a living legend. "The Dementor," I answer. "Yeah."

"Well, I was speaking to Ron about Boggarts just the other day, and do you know what he said?"

I can see Harry's lips curling upwards, as if he's trying really hard not to grin. 

"What?"

"He said he's discovered a foolproof method for dealing with them. Want to know what it is?"

"Yes," I say. He's got me hooked now. I can tell he's holding back some sort of a joke, but I will honestly do anything I can to not be afraid of facing a Boggart any more. 

"Breasts," Harry says, now grinning madly. He looks insane. 

I roll my eyes. "Harry. I don't want to talk about breasts for Merlin's sake. What do they have to do with defeating a Boggart?"

Even Harry's eyes are smiling when he answers me. "Whatever the Boggart turns into, you point your wand at it, say the banishing spell and give that sucker a huge set of boobs." He begins to laugh. "Seriously, it doesn't matter what it is. Picture a Dementor with a giant rack." He holds out his hands to demonstrate how big he's talking, and I can't help but burst out laughing along with him.

***

When I arrive back at school after the break, I feel like I've been rejuvenated. There's a definite spring in my step. I'm not sure if it's because I had an excellent break from school and was able to celebrate my sixteenth birthday with family or if Harry's advice on how to tackle the Boggart has bolstered my confidence level. Whatever the case, I've decided to man up and face that bastard tonight.

As I walk down the dark corridors to the Defence classroom, I feel the apprehension a bit, but like with any test, going into it overly confident is a sure-fire way to fail. Some nerves are to be expected. I push aside my guilt about doing this without witnesses, but I just can't bring myself to do it in front of my peers.

I open the door, wincing as the creak from the hinges sounds loud in my ears. I step over the threshold, my heart racing inside my chest and two thoughts at the front of my mind, the banishing spell, and breasts.

I close the door and face the wardrobe. It rattles as I advance as if the Boggart within can tell danger is approaching. I focus on the smooth feel of my wand in my hand. I give myself a quick pep talk inside my head. 

_No matter what comes out of that wardrobe, the Boggart won't have a wand. I have the wand. I am in control._

I point my wand at the lock as the wardrobe gives a violent shake and unlocks.

The doors open silently and my breath leaves me. 

I'm stepping out of the wardrobe, or rather, the Boggart is, but it looks exactly like I do right now. It's wearing my face, my hair, my pyjamas. Thankfully it does not have a wand, but its eyes fix on mine, glowing golden in the light of the oil lamps. 

I point my wand at it. My arm trembles. My hand feels weak. Tears prickle in my eyes, but Harry's words bolster me. _Breasts. Give it a huge rack._

_"R…Riddikulus!"_

A second later the Boggart Teddy is looking down at its new boobs. He looks back at me and smiles, an eyebrow raised. 

I look down. I have a giant set of breasts too. 

My eyes flash back up to meet the Boggart and he's pacing before me, a few steps to the left, a few to the right; staring at me with a hunger in his eyes that makes my heart beat so fast I feel faint. "Hello, brother," he says. His voice is my voice.

I don't know what he's saying, but I have no time to waste. I need to act now. I point my wand at him again, thinking I'll make his breasts so big he won't be able to walk, but I'm shocked to find he no longer has a mouth. His face from under his nose to his chin is flat skin. There are no lips, no definition, nothing.

I try to cry out, but I end up dropping my wand when I can't. My hands fly to my own face and like his, I have no mouth. 

I don't understand why this is happening. Why am I changing as he changes? How am I going to get away? I need to make noise. 

His eyes fix on mine again and widen, not in surprise, but horribly, as if somebody stuck their fingers in between the eyeball and the socket and pulled and his face is made of clay. His eyes sit in sockets the size of dinner plates, and while I can see him just fine, I feel my own face with scrabbling hands and want to scream as my face reflects his face.

I can't close my eyes, the lids won't reach. I can't scream. I've dropped my wand. The only recourse I have is to run for it. 

I try to take a step, but when I look down, my legs have pooled into a solid column and when I look back up at him, I see his have too. We resemble grossly disfigured chessmen. 

His face is melting as I watch. He's becoming more shapeless and indistinct every second. I use my last ounce of fight inside me to knock a chair over, and then I'm a shapeless blob without definition. I can't see. I can't feel. I am not me; I'm a thing. 

I hear the door slam open, a muffled voice shout, _"Riddikulus!"_ and then there is only darkness. 

I breathe heavily for a few moments, trying to get my bearings. I'm somewhere dark and cramped. It feels safe enough right now, though there are voices nearby that could signal danger. I strain my ears to hear what they're saying.

"…should know better than to do such a foolish thing! I'll be writing to your grandmother in the morning!" 

That was a rather shrill voice, female if I had to guess. 

The answering voice stutters, but I recognise it. "I … I'm s-sorry. I w-won't d-do it a-again."

That was me. Only it's not. 

The Boggart is me and I am him. 

My eyes scale up and down in my prison, making out light around the cracks in the wardrobe door. I thrash against the side and the wardrobe rattles. 

The light goes out around the cracks and the sound of the door closing leaves an echoing silence ringing in my ears.


End file.
